Laughter In The Rain
by Tom Beaumont
Summary: OneShot. Izzie and George enjoy a Seattle downpour.  Rated K plus for some serious O'Stevens smoochin!


**Laughter In The Rain (PG)**

_**Tom Sez: ** Something short and sweet, at the behest of my BGL buddies at FanForum..._

_Dedicated to my "Izzie"..._

**_Disclaiming at will now - from downtown!: _**_Grey's is ABC Studios' property...they can do what they wish...but they can't stop me from thinking about what I think about...so nyah-nyah!_**_  
_**

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A sopping wet bag of groceries in her hands threatens to tear open and spill across the front porch. "George!" she cries through the downpour. "Come here and unlock the door!" 

He stands by the car in his blue windbreaker being pummeled by rain, peering in the windows that are fogging over. "Izzie, I can't!" he shouts in reply. "I left my keys in the ignition!"

Her shoulders drop. Her eyes widen. Her throat grows tight. "What?!"

He slaps the top of the car. It makes a wide splash. "I left the keys - "

She frowns even more. "I heard you!" she replies, sitting down in her soaked blue jeans on the driest place she can find.

His unruly dark hair is plastered to his head in a strange configuration – some places mere strands, others spiky lumps. "Maybe if I had a coat hanger - " he starts.

"Yeah, let me go up to my nice, warm, dry room and find you one," she finishes. She catches her reflection in the darkened windowpane as she rests the wet paper sack on the ground and the sight of her saturated self makes her shudder.

"I'm sorry," he says, still fiddling with the door handles, as if one will magically unlock if he tries enough.

The rain continues pelting the roof over the porch, which provides no protection for her from the howling wind. "Why didn't you let me get my keys?" she asks.

"I didn't plan this, you know," he protests. "Locking the keys in the car. Or the rain. I have no control over weather."

She stands up, not getting any drier, but not possibly any wetter, either. "I said, 'Let me get my keys. You lose yours all the time.'"

"Why didn't you do it then?" he asks. "Why? Because you wanted to get to the store. You wanted to leave right away. I said, 'Okay.' You chose to leave them behind."

She bites her lower lip, mostly because she knows he's not wrong. "Fine," she says. "I'm cold. If I die of exposure or pneumonia or whatever, just remember I'm holding you personally responsible." Then she walks back on to the porch and tries to find a dry place to sit, rubbing her hands together for warmth.

He runs a hand through the mop of tangled hair on his head and starts up the front walk. He stops before the steps. "You need to put your hands under your arms. Massage your chest. It works better, if you're cold."

She follows his advice. Crosses her arms in front of herself and starts working her palms against herself, until she has a thought. "My wet clothes aren't going to be any help," she said. "Come here." She motions for him to join her.

He walks up the porch steps tentatively. "You aren't going to hollow me out and live in me, right?"

"Not right now," she says gently. "Put your arms around me. We'll share body heat."

He frowns. "But I'm soaked through. I - "

"Shut up and put your arms around me," she mutters. So he does.

Their faces press against each other as the rain and wind howl and pound against them. "You didn't shave this morning," she notices.

"No. You did, though," he replies, feeling her fake a frown. "Those five blade razors really are a miracle product."

She giggles, and notices him shivering a bit. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he says, breathing a little deeper. "The wind is just merciless."

She doesn't feel it, and quickly realizes that he is taking the brunt of the weather so she doesn't have to. "I'm sorry I yelled," she says.

"I'm sorry I left the keys in the car," he replies.

She pulls her face away from his. Looks at him as the rainwater runs down his gentle features. Then she raises a hand and cups his cheek. His face melts into her touch. She feels him pull her closer, sees the embers in his eyes, and leans in close, tasting the cool rain on his lips.

He pulls back, trying to gather himself. Then he sees the hunger in her stare, and realizes it's mirroring his. So he flattens a palm against the small of her back, wraps the other around her long neck, and gives in to their shared desire.

Then, from behind them, they hear, "Uh, guys?"

Their long, slow kiss is interrupted. They look to the door. It's Meredith. She's stunned.

Not as stunned as them, but still...

"Oh. Hi," Izzie says, straightening up as if she could still pretend she hadn't been seen.

"Yeah. Morning," George says, trying to catch his breath.

"Yeah," Meredith says, still dazed.

"We thought - " Izzie begins.  " - you were at the hospital," George completes.

"Nope," she says. "Sleeping. Until I heard you two out here. So I came down here to split you up, and that's when - "

"Huh," Izzie says. "Well, I've got these groceries to get inside," she adds, grabbing for the paper bag, and ducking past her friend in the doorway.

"And I've got to - uh - call the – guy – you know, from Triple A," George says, his eyes trailing her until she is gone. "'Cause I really need to - unlock my car." He slips past Meredith as well, and disappears up the stairs to his room.

Meredith watches the rain for a second, then shakes her head to lose the last of her sleepiness, and goes back inside.

The rain is still falling when the locksmith shows up about an hour or so later. George had changed into dry clothes, but they are soaking through again as he stands by the car and watches the trained professional pick the driver's side lock.

"Some downpour, huh?" the locksmith says.

George nods, not thinking about what's happening in front of him, but moments before. "Yeah, it is," he says absently.

"Hate getting caught out in this, I'll bet," the man adds.

"A little," George replies. He's still thinking about Izzie's face in the rain, the need in her eyes. The taste of the sweet rainwater on her soft lips. And then he hears her voice over his shoulder.

"Oh, hey, George," she says, her voice airy. "Did you need this?"

He turns to see her, standing in a grey hooded sweatshirt and jeans, holding a coat hanger. The rain is pouring over her, darkening her clothes, but not dousing the light in her eyes.

"No, Izzie," he says gently, walking to her. And then, on impulse, he puts his arms around her, and holds her close. He feels her shiver. "Are you cold?" he asks.

"No, George," she says, looking into his eyes. A smile tugs up the corners of her mouth. "Not even close." Then she leans into him, pressing her lips against his, letting the rain trickle into her mouth, mingling with the sweetness of his breath and the passion of his kiss.

The locksmith notices this and leaves without a word. The image of their embrace makes him hearken back to a time not so long ago. And he's remembering, all the while he's driving away, the first time he kissed the love of his life in a heavy Seattle rain, and thinking about how it probably looked a lot like that.

**THE END**


End file.
